The stranger had nodded off in Captain Parker's office, which allowed him to be surprised by the entrance of the ranking officer at Oceanside East. Parker summoned two uniformed officers and told them to take the man for questioning.

"Wait. I'm going to die. I've been murdered."

"Get this clown out of my office. Put him in the drunk tank. And tell Fitzgerald to get the hell in here."

"He's alive, asshole. Get me the Dubinsky killer and throw this drunk in the tank."

Cassidy was certain the stranger had been murdered. While Captain Parker was distracted by a sudden pain in his groin, Cassidy escorted the murder victim out of the captain's office and over to his own desk.

"Not as often as I would like, unless you count that thing I do with my sister..."

"We usually don't count that."

Lieutenant Fitzgerald stormed into the police station and slammed the brown paper bag containing his lunch onto his desk. The lunch in question consisted of an overly dry egg salad sandwich, stale peanuts and a can of vienna sausages. Fitzgerald glared at Cassidy and then at the stranger. He demanded to know what was going on. "Too early to interview assholes like this," he muttered under his breath before lighting a cigarette and sitting down. "What's up, clown?"

"My name is John Reece. I was murdered about two hours ago. I want to press charges."

There was something about the man's cologne that Fitzgerald found himself drawn to. He considered asking about it, thinking that the woman down the hall might find it captivating. Fitzgerald had tried to get her attention and perhaps cause her to develop a romantic interest in him. This man's cologne was deadly, yet understated. Fitzgerald made a mental note to figure out what it was later on. The case suddenly became interesting to him. It could help him with his romantic pursuits.

Fitzgerald pulled Cassidy aside and strongly suggested they go to the scene of the crime. After filling out the necessary paperwork, which Fitzgerald did with a freshly sharpened burnt umber crayon, they learned the man's name was Victor Amstead. The crime had occurred outside his girlfriend's apartment, which was at 1711 Benthurst Place. It was a ten minute drive in the brown unmarked sedan for which Fitzgerald had purchased a vanity plate reading "LUV ASS." It was approved by the department only after Fitzgerald convinced them it was great for undercover work. No cop would ever have such a license plate.

"I'll talk to the neighbors about the dairy angle. I don't see any fucking cows, though. What do you think, Cassidy? Think there are any three-toed farmers out around these parts?" Fitzgerald began laughing maniacally, gave Victor Amstead a friendly punch to the stomach, and walked towards the apartment building. Amstead immediately dropped to the ground and began vomiting greenish bile.

After the ambulance arrived and removed Victor Amstead from the scene, Fitzgerald and Cassidy began ringing doorbells. Few people were home. It was a workday and this was the kind of neighborhood that business executives tended to live in. Fitzgerald and Cassidy weren't giving up, however, and finally someone answered their call. At apartment 546-B, an elderly woman holding a partially shaven housecat came to the door.

"Help you?"

"We're cops, lady. There was a murder outside your building last night. Curious if you saw anything with those half-blind eyes of yours. Of course, that is if you can still remember anything that happened before breakfast. Do you even know what year it is, bitch?"

"Sometimes you tell too much truth, asshole. Look, it isn't that I want to bust these guys. The old bitch was right. They are patriots. Sometimes patriots have to stand their ground. Sounds like your buddy Victor was preaching against the American way, trying to force his hippie ways on honest citizens. Makes me want to puke."

"Look, Fitzgerald, no matter where you stand on an issue, murder is against the law. We are here to uphold the law. In my opinion, these people do good things, introducing natural substitutes for products that may in some way be harmful either to the person consuming them or to the environment. They don't deserve to die for it."

Fitzgerald pointed at two men running down the corridor in dairy farmer outfits with hats shaped like cow heads. Cassidy nodded and they ran a left end blitz, catching the dairy farmers off-guard and throwing them to the floor. Fitzgerald took some quick cheap shot punches at the two men before helping Cassidy drag them down to the car.

"A good day's work."

The police radio chirped and the voice of Sargeant Veronica Wheeler called out their names.

"What do you have for us?"

"Your murder victim is going to live.He was injected with animal steroids.His ass is getting much bigger, but he's otherwise fine."

As they rode to the station, both Cassidy and Fitzgerald quietly tried to determine what charges they would book the two dairy farmers on.